Un Autre Misérable
by Lady Rosalune
Summary: My name is Sylvie. This is my story. I never wanted to end up in this terrible life, this twilight of despair. It's not fair, what did I ever do to deserve this? Why can't I find mercy? You tell me: did I deserve this hellish life?


Un Autre Misérable

My name is Sylvie. This is my story. I am the eldest of five. We were poor, but not beggars—my parents made sure of that. They worked very hard to keep food on the table. When I was thirteen, my mother died giving birth to a stillborn baby boy. After that, my father worked still harder, trying desperately to provide for us on his own. That was before the accident.

I was almost sixteen when it happened. To this day I don't know how exactly it came about, but there was an uproar ending in a riot, and my father never came home. I went out the next day, trying desperately to find work, but no one would hire me. After a fortnight of searching, I knew I'd have to provide for my siblings some other way. That was the first time I went to the docks. The pimp looked me over and said he'd let me try to earn my keep. I was lucky that first night and earned myself a spot among the older women.

I quickly discovered that the pimp was the most important person at the docks, moreso even than the men who came for us. The pimp decided who got what. He had the power to steer customers our way. He could even send us home for the night early if he thought we wouldn't bring any money in. Yes, the pimp was the person I needed to get on my side. Unfortunately, he really only took to those who brought in many customers, and that, I soon found, wasn't me.

I started to grow afraid. My eldest brother had run away from home not long after our father died. I haven't seen him since. But my sister Lynnette was almost old enough to find a place there at the docks. I knew she was more beautiful than I and would soon find a permanent place if first she came. I didn't want that. I needed to keep her far from here until she was old enough to marry someone respectable. So it was clear to me that, somehow, I had to ingratiate myself to the pimp.

It didn't take me too long to discover that I could provide something somewhat unique: information. I began keeping tabs on everything that happened in our small town. If a girl was wandering around looking for work, I'd find out her story. If a noble was having marital problems, I'd discover where he spent his time. Then I made this information available to the pimp. In this way I helped myself stand out.

It was a little over two years later that she first came. Her name was Fantine. I had been watching her for a month or two, ever since I discovered that she had a child. Finally, the secret had come out, and Fantine had lost her job at the factory. When she first came our way, she was simply trying to sell off her few possessions, but when she ran out of belongings, she had to find other ways to make money.

She had been coming around for a week or two when the pimp finally noticed her. I heard he was asking around, so I made my way over and spilled her story. Like I had so many times in those past two years, I helped pressure another wretched girl like myself into this hateful life. At least, I consoled myself as I thought of her selling herself that day, at least it wasn't my sister. Because really, what else mattered?

I felt terrible the day _that man_, the one we all hated, came to her. He had come to each of us at some point, but Fantine tried to refuse him. It was some spectacle. When the police came for her, I ran, but I had to watch from a distance, as I felt at least partly responsible. I was almost relieved when Monsieur Mayor saved her. But I also envied her. Why hadn't he helped me when it was my family that needed to be saved? What made Fantine more deserving than I? She had made her own bed when she conceived her daughter, but what had I ever done wrong? It was with a terrible bitterness that I went home that night. I suppose that had something to do with the horrible things that happened later.

My life didn't change much over the next eight years. My wish was granted, and Lynnette was married at eighteen, unscarred by the life I had worked so hard to keep her from. The younger of my two brothers, Etienne, had been studying, and we had moved to Paris so he could try to glean knowledge from the students there. I found that Paris had a good market for my line of work, so I managed to continue to support my two younger siblings. My youngest sister was little Aurélie. I wanted the same for her as I had desired for Lynnette, so, once more, I dived into my work to keep my sister away from it.

If it hadn't been for my old grudge and even older habit of collecting information, I wouldn't have noticed the coming revolution. However, I could see it. I could feel it in the water and on the foul air of the city. Something big was coming. When my brother mentioned the tension, I spoke of a better tomorrow and a changed world. I was a fool. How was I to know that the very people with whom my sweet Etienne spent his time were the ones who would lead the way in that terrible slaughter? I can't help but feel that I am responsible for his decision to march with them. Regardless of why, he did go with them. I never saw my dear brother again. When I heard that he had been there and that none had escaped, I wept. But only for a moment, for I couldn't let my Aurélie see me weak like that. She still doesn't know what happened, I think.

Tomorrow she is to wed. The man is a sergeant in the army, and I pray they can be happy. After tomorrow I will have nothing to live for—certainly nothing to sell myself for. So I have decided that tomorrow night I will take my leave. I will leave this hell that is called life. I don't know what I will find on the other side, but it cannot be worse than here. I've never really believed in God—after all, where was he during my pain—but I am praying tonight. Not for me, because it is too late for me, but for Lynnette and for Aurélie. Please, O God, please keep them safe and let them not weep for me. I never could bear to see them weep. Oh sweet Etienne, please wait for me. It will be very soon now. I am coming to you, Mama, and Papa. I am coming.

* * *

_Hi guys! It's me, Lady Rosalune. This is an interesting piece you just read, in that it was never really meant to be a story. It became one, but it was originally just a backstory for the character that I am playing in a local theatre's production of_ Les Mis. _Of course, I'm a writer, not an actor, so in the end I wrote this little one-shot so I could get into character. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, I'd really appreciate any feedback you'd care to provide. Thanks for reading!_


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